Just as women start to love their naked bodies at the age of 34, according to
a new survey, many men discover the pain of dieting. Katy Brand is
rubbing her hands with glee.

You know what’s cute? When men hit their mid-thirties and they suddenly want to talk about diets. Having sailed through their teens, twenties and even early-thirties, barely giving what goes into (and possibly comes out of) their mouths a second thought, most men hit the paunch wall around 35 and find that weekly five-a-aside game in the park is just not keeping the pints in check anymore.

Furtively (at first) there’s a little browse online - not for a diet, oh no, no, no – just for some nutritional information – how to get the most out of your protein intake, and so on. Then perhaps the cover of Men’s Health catches the eye in a way it hasn’t before – that ‘10 Simple Ways to a Six Pack’ headline hits home in a new way – in the past, he would have sniggered to himself, “I’ve got one simple way to a six pack and it’s opening the fridge door”, but now it leads to an actual purchase, followed by a perusal in the littlest room. The word ‘sculpted’ excites previously dormant interest.

Yes, around the mid-thirties the men in our lives – friends, husbands, lovers, co-workers – start wanting to talk about diets, bashfully at first, but then with increasing confidence, until they assume the role of chief educator. And what’s especially endearing is that each fresh discovery is laid before us as if it was entirely new information – “apparently, according to Dr Atkins, the body needs to reach a state of ketosis before it will start burning its own fat reserves” he says, and then settles back to monitor your reaction like a cat proudly bringing a freshly killed baby mouse to your feet at breakfast time. “Yes,” you yawn, “I know – I did Atkins for about three weeks a decade ago – feel free to try it, but once the headache kicks in and you’ve been constipated for five days, you’ll find yourself with your head in a loaf of Hovis, silently weeping with relief on the kitchen floor, before you’ve even put your keys on the sideboard.” He looks deflated.

A few days go by. Then, without warning, he declares: “WeightWatchers is good because you don’t have to deal with all the calorie counting, you just use their system of Points.”

“That’s true,” you say as you pour a fourth glass of wine. “You don’t have to deal with all the calorie counting, you do, however, have to deal with a patronising cow called Julie who pretends not to smirk when you gain back the five pounds you lost before going on holiday.”

It’s not that you want to be mean; it’s just that you’ve travelled each of these roads before. A number of times. My personal favourite is the moment when your beloved bursts through the front door with a wild expression on his face and cries: “There’s over a HUNDRED CALORIES in a BAKED POTATO! What the hell am I supposed to eat for LUNCH? I thought they were a HEALTH FOOD!” You nod sadly, perhaps even a little jaded, and open a bag of Doritos.

It’s then a short hop to a week of miserable nights in the pub as he nurses a vodka and diet coke instead of the usual pint of lager, and bitterly gives you a run down of the RDA percentages in a take away curry before you crack, and ever so gently explain that you have either been on a diet, thinking about a diet, starting a diet or breaking a diet since you were 11 years-old and although you love him and welcome this new-found enthusiasm, there is very little that he can tell you that have not already discovered and subsequently failed at for yourself. If Kinesiology is mentioned at any time it may be that a short separation is required while he has a word with himself.

And so, it isa rather bittersweet irony that a recent study has found that at the age of 34, the average woman stops worrying about how they look naked. Yes, 34 – right around the time our male counterparts are beginning their own descent into the Hades that is acute, daily scrutiny of one’s own physical form. It’s a neat little role reversal, and handled correctly it can be a very pleasant period in any long-term relationship – the man gets a window into the murky world of ‘body image issues’ that most women live with to a greater or lesser extent on a daily basis from puberty until death. This leads (hopefully) to greater intimacy and understanding, and into the bargain (if he is with someone of similar age) he also gets, by way of compensation, a partner exhibiting new found liberation when it comes to her own hang ups, all of which can only lead to better sex. Or divorce. Or both.

So, 34 it is then – a watershed for women everywhere, it seems. And for men, too. Of course, the final irony is that most women in their thirties prefer a man who has slightly gone to seed (see Vince Vaughn above), but for god’s sake don’t tell them that – it’ll spoil the fun.